Keepers of Arden The Brothers Volume 1

1

999 years after the god Nevlar’s Retribution

Wilhelm Laybryth, as usual, was bored.

In the backroom of the magic shop where his mother worked, he sat on a stool surrounded by shelves of spell components and enchanted items, daydreaming out the small window facing the narrow alley. He felt abnormally defiant today, and instead of completing his schoolwork, he pressed his mouth to the glass window, blew, and watched the fog slowly evaporate.

No other boys his age read books, wrote letters, or had learning assignments. Why should he?

He blew on the glass again but followed it with a sigh of defeat. He tried to be an obedient boy for his mother, and his rebellion faded like his breath on the window. Turning to the shelf where his parchment rested, he picked up his quill, sighed, and once again found his gaze roving over the alley.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement, like a shadow flickering in unwanted light. Using the supports on his stool to make himself taller, he peered from an awkward angle down the alley. After a moment of routine calmness, he was about to sit when the movement caught his eye again.

As he rubbed away the condensation his quickened breathing had left on the window, the shadow cast by the adjacent building moved unnaturally. Wilhelm quickly wiped the new fog and held his breath. The shadow took form as it bubbled up from the cobblestones. No longer part of the building’s outline, it was its own entity—the center of it a dark churning shadow, and the edges dancing like black flames licking the air. Wilhelm flinched back, his feet slipped, and he tumbled from the stool. Reaching out, he grabbed the window ledge and pulled himself up.

Swaying directly on the other side of the window was the creature. Now containing a head, arms, and legs, the fire moved to an unheard rhythm—the featureless face seeing without looking.

Screams erupted from outside, muffled by the window, but the creature paid them no heed. Its gaze stayed locked on Wilhelm.

Whirling around, he tripped on the fallen stool, staggered to his feet, and bolted to the main shop.

Mother! Wilhelm called. There’s something outside!

His mother left the window she’d been peering out and accepted him into her open arms.

What did you see? she asked.

Something came from the shadows, Wilhelm explained past his shaking breaths. Some kind of creature. It’s not human.

The magic shop owner took a gander at his store and shook his head. Leave now, Himiks said.

You can’t be serious? she said, her grip tightening around Wilhelm’s shoulders.

I don’t want anyone in here. Leave now! Himiks ordered. The corpulent man snatched a sack and began cramming it full of valuable magical relics.

Please, Master Himiks, his mother pleaded. I won’t be a bother. We’ll stay in the cellar. You know the people will blame mages for anything that happens out there.

No, Ashra, you can’t stay here. Himiks grunted as he flung the sack over his shoulder. Just keep your cloak wrapped around you. They won’t see your robes.

I don’t understand— his mother started, but Himiks cut her off.

Leave, or I’ll kill you myself.

His mother glanced out the window, then knelt in front of Wilhelm. Her voice was soothing when she spoke, her demeanor calming as always, despite the rising screams outside. We are going to run home. Hold my hand, and don’t let go.

Wilhelm nodded.

If something happens to me, keep heading home. Don’t stop.

Fear clenched Wilhelm’s throat as he nodded.

Good boy, Ashra said and kissed his forehead.

If you survive the night, you still have a job, Himiks called, waddling down a hallway. I don’t want this to ruin our working relationship.

His mother pulled on her cloak, clasped the front, and shifted it to cover her slate-blue mage robes. She offered an encouraging smile before leading Wilhelm out into the chaotic streets.

Legs and skirts were all he saw as he darted out of the mage shop, his blood pounding in his ears. People fled down the cobblestone streets with the consistency of a tornado, their screeches reverberating between the cramped buildings. The stench of sweat and burned meat overpowered the crisp autumn air, and only the briny scent of the sea pierced through it. Crimson veins painted the sky, bathing the streets in an eerie reddish-orange hue.

May the gods help us, his mother whispered, her gaze sweeping over the chaos.

Wincing from his mother’s tight grip, he plunged into the bedlam alongside her. He was too short to see the terror going on around him—he only reached waist high, and as wails reached a crescendo, he snapped his eyes shut to avoid an accidental view of what might be unfolding.

Warmth devoured the evening chill, bringing with it a hissing noise, followed by what sounded like bubbling stew. Wilhelm cracked open an eye and looked for the source. Beside him, a man was clutched in the arms of a shadowfire. However, the creature wasn’t the source of the noise. The cause was the man flailing about in its arms. He was burning, skin popping like a crackling fire, scream hissing in his throat, insides sputtering like boiling water, and his dripping skin wafted up the stench of burnt hair and baking flesh.

A flood of people blocked the scene as his mother hauled him mercilessly onward. His stomach churned, and he leaned to the side and threw up.

Time blurred into a landscape of faces twisted in fear and cries of the dying. In what seemed like mere breaths, Market Street became an obstacle course of charred bodies.

A corpse thudded to the ground next to him, smoking and sizzling. In a hoarse voice, Wilhelm whispered, Twenty-seven—adding the person to his count of the dead.

The melting lump disappeared from view when his mother darted down an alley. It was less busy and much quieter than the main thoroughfare, making his slapping footfalls echo like a metalsmith’s hammer.

His mother took shelter in the deep alcove of an estate. We’re almost home, she said, kneeling down in front of him. She brushed his hair aside, cupped his face in her hands, and shifted his head left to right. You’re not hurt, are you?

Wilhelm couldn’t find his voice. He shook his head.

His mother’s warm smile spread across her face, driving away the furrow in her brow. You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever seen. She kissed his forehead. The most amazing little boy. Leaning back against the brick wall, she rested a hand over her heaving chest. We’ll rest a moment. Just another two main streets and we’ll be home.

Her courage reminded him why he loved her so dearly. It was just the two of them and had been for his entire five and a half years of life, which had always been fine by him. But now, as he watched the tailor’s family fleeing down the alley, the father’s arm wrapped protectively around the mother, for the first time, Wilhelm wanted a father of his own—someone who could offer his mother the same comfort. He was too little to help fight the crowd.

A shifting shadow tucked between two buildings caught his eye. The blackness within the crevice lightened to the sootiest gray, and then it churned like smoke from a billowing fire. It spilt from the gap in an inky, undulating mass, looking like a pot of boiling black water.

Sucking in a breath, he pointed a shaking finger toward the growing creature. His mother latched hold of him and shrank back to the shadows.

The shadowfire swelled up from the cobblestones, sprouting arms, legs, and a featureless, oval head as it morphed between twisting flames and writhing smoke. It raised its sunken eye sockets to the sky and belted out a high-pitched, earsplitting shriek that pierced Wilhelm’s ears.

Any person in the alley screamed and fled. The shadowfire looked both ways before gliding towards the street Wilhelm had just left. Once alone, his mother’s breath exploded out.

Seizing hold of his hand, she sprinted from the alcove, dragging him until he got his feet under him, her grip making his fingers numb.

The next main street teemed with people trampling one another. Half ran one way and half ran the other in some attempt to find safety. Shiny armor fleeted in front of Wilhelm, and wails of terror drowned out the guards’ orders.

After adjusting her cloak again, his mother darted into the mayhem. He bounced among legs, wincing and grunting from the rougher jabs that would surely bruise.

When Wilhelm and his mother rounded the corner to the next alley, they both froze.

He whispered, Thirty-six, when the flaming tailor streaked by, his screams gurgling in his throat, burning arms flapping. As he entered the main street, people parted way except for a little girl Wilhelm’s age. She was sobbing and standing alone with no parents protecting her. He tried to wrench his hand free so he could save her, but his mother’s ironclad grip kept him by her side.

The little girl’s wide eyes focused on the man sprinting towards her. Obviously paralyzed with fear, she merely stood there as the tailor smashed into her. The girl reeled backward, tripped, and tumbled to the ground. The man fell on her legs, twitching once before lying motionless.

A guard shoved past the people and scooped the girl up in his arms. Despite the fact she’d been pinned under the burning tailor, her legs were unharmed, her wool dress not even singed. The blackfire had spread to nothing else.

What in Veedran’s damnation! Wilhelm’s mother hissed as she stared at the girl.

She jerked him down the alley to the wife and daughter of the tailor who were huddled together. Reaching out a hand, his mother said, Come with us. We’ll help you.

The wife bolted to her feet. Mage! she shrieked, pointing at the sliver of slate-blue mage robes peeking out from beneath his mother’s cloak. She’s the one responsible! Burn her!

Fleeing people paid the woman no heed. His mother’s eyes saddened, but she said nothing when she continued down the alley, leaving the woman and her daughter alone.

The last main street before their home was less packed than the other two. Even so, chaos owned the people, and crispy corpses speckled the cobblestones.

A rush of warmth pressed on Wilhelm’s back. Craning his neck, he looked over his shoulder to find a shadowfire towering behind him. Though the creature had no eyes, there was little doubt the sunken sockets stared at him—stared through him—into his soul, his heart, his mind. As he opened his mouth to shout a warning, the creature’s fingerless hands clamped around Wilhelm’s head. A swarm of what felt like maggots massed in his skull, squirming through his mind, searching. They leached away his voice and stole the stability of his legs and vision.

Its hissing voice whispered in his ear, I see you, boy. I know who you are.

The pressure in his mind swelled until he was sure his head would burst open. Then he was whisked away into his mother’s arms. The pain ebbed, and his vision returned to reveal the shadowfire gazing after him. Soon, fleeing people blocked the creature from view.

He locked his hands together behind his mother’s neck, burying his face in her hair, wishing with all his might the screams would stop and the deaths would end.

Someone rammed into his mother, sending her plummeting to the ground. Wilhelm’s back smacked the cobblestones, and the air left him in one whoosh. His mother’s weight pressed on his chest, making his struggled gasp cut like a knife. Shoving herself to her hands and knees, she used her body to shield him from the stampede.

He gulped in a few deep breaths before rolling to his stomach and pushing himself to his hands and knees. His mother’s soft cries of pain tightened his chest as she jerked with each kick she suffered. Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed him close, draping herself over him.

A flaming body collided with the cobblestones in front of them, sending a cloud of flaking flesh into the air.

Forty-nine, Wilhelm whispered.

Then he was rising, her arms loose enough to allow him to twist around. He caught sight of shining armor and hazel eyes before his mother sprinted ahead. The crowd soon engulfed whoever had helped them. She dodged past another man consumed in flames and darted up the stairs to their home. At the landing, she fumbled for the key in her robe pocket. Wilhelm looked down at the disorder to see a shadowfire staring at him.

Mother, hurry! Wilhelm yelled.

The key clinked on the wood planks. His mother uttered a curse before lowering him to the ground and retrieving the key.

The shadowfire shrieked. All the creatures on the street stopped their inspection of the person writhing in their arms to stare up at Wilhelm.

Once again, a swarm of maggots bulged in his skull, slithering around his brain, searching.

Mother! Wilhelm cried, clamping his hands over his head in hopes of holding it together.

The lock gave, and his mother hauled him inside. Slamming the door shut, she snatched up the nearest chair and wedged it under the door handle.

Are you hurt? she asked.

Wilhelm reeled on unsteady legs until he found the wall, exhaling deeply when the maggots stilled and the pressure ebbed. He shook his head.

His mother walked to the kitchen and dipped a cloth in the washbasin. Lifting aside her hair, she dabbed blood from her temple. Come over here, dear.

Wilhelm joined her at the kitchen table as she settled into a seat.

You’re sure you aren’t hurt? No one kicked you or stepped on you?

He shook his head.

A voice called from outside. Ashra? Are you there?

Jyfil! She rushed to the chair, wiggled it free, and flung open the door.

The old baker hurried inside. Ashra! Thank the gods you’re alive!

What in Nevlar’s fury are you doing in the streets? she asked, shutting the door quickly. You should be hiding in your cellar.

Nonsense. We’re fleeing the city. You need to come with us.

I don’t think that’s wise. These creatures are looking for something. They’re not killing every person out there. It would be better to stay inside where it’s safe.

Wilhelm tilted his head. The screams penetrating the window were subsiding.

Jyfil wrung his hands. You lived in my home as one of my own daughters for a year and a half. I’m not leaving you here by yourself!

She pinched Jyfil’s wrinkled cheek. I know, dear man, but I won’t be safe out there. I’m safe here.

Jyfil shook his head. No. I’ve heard people say those things can walk through walls. You must come with me.

I’m not leaving. I’m in more danger out there. The citizens will blame the shadowfires on the first mage they see. I barely kept covered on the way here. She went to the window, peeled back the curtains, and smiled. Look, they’re leaving.

Jyfil stared out the window before shaking his head. You’re a resilient woman.

We’ve dealt with horrors emerging from time to time for near a thousand years. She shrugged. Crutar’s little raids are common. There’s no need to panic.

Jyfil frowned at Ashra. "There is reason to fear, dear. They’re saying more creatures are roaming Arden than ever before. Horrible beasts. New beasts!"

Who is ‘they?’

Nabulik says the horrors left by the dark god are rising to take our lands and force us into slavery. He said they’re led by the god Crutar.

You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Jyfil. Crutar is too drunk to coordinate any kind of attack. These shadowfires are just old horrors growing brave and stepping out of whatever hole they’ve been dwelling in since Veedran’s departure. Look. His mother motioned to the window. It’s already quiet. She turned a friendly scolding stare at Jyfil. Crutar’s no more interested in shackling us into slavery than I am in learning how to bake. He barely qualifies as a god. You mustn’t believe everything you hear.

Jyfil smiled abashed and seemed to just notice Wilhelm. I hope I didn’t scare you, boy.

He shook his head.

My son will grow up to be a strong man. She beamed a smile at him. Demons exist, but we remain calm and steadfast in the face of evil. Do we not, Son?

Wilhelm nodded. Yes, Mother.

Now, she said, flattening the front of her robes, enough of this talk. Go home and comfort the little ones.

Jyfil smiled half-heartedly at Wilhelm, kissed Ashra’s cheek, and slipped into the darkening night.

She repositioned the chair to block the door. Go wash, dear.

Wilhelm went to the washroom, cleaned, and attempted to put on his bedclothes, which seemed to have an agenda of their own. He won the tussle and made his way back to the kitchen.

Let me see. Ashra examined behind his ears. Once he passed inspection, she said, I’m proud of you. I know you were afraid, but you followed directions, kept control of your fears, and were very brave.

Were you afraid?

She smiled, smoothing his hair. Perhaps. But I know a secret.

What?

She took his right hand and turned it palm-up to reveal his raised birthmark of a silhouetted bear. Do you know what the bear stood for in the Armies of Light?

Protector.

That’s right. The commanders wore armor with a bear etched on their breastplates. It was a favorite of the goddess Zerana. She brushed back his hair. You’re meant to do something wonderful in this world, Son. Zerana’s grace will protect you.

But Zerana’s dead. She can’t protect me.

His mother gathered him in her arms and rocked him. Therein lies the secret. She may be dead, but her love survived the Retribution. The love she left in Arden cares for and protects those who have a kind heart. You know, your father had the same mark on his hand. That’s why he can’t be with us. He’s doing something important in the world.

Wilhelm snuggled against his mother. Her clothes always smelled of baked bread. I’m never going to meet him, am I?

No, I’m afraid not.

He doesn’t want a son?

In her conversation-ending tone, she said, I don’t know, dear. You mustn’t dwell on it. I love you, and that’s all that matters.

I’ll never have a baby brother, will I?

You ask this question every day, and what do I tell you?

Maybe one day. Without a father, Wilhelm’s hope of filling the void in his life dwindled each day.

She pinched his nose. Now go to bed.

He realized he had nothing in his stomach, and now that his fears were subsiding, food sounded wonderful. But I’m starving!

His mother laughed and lifted him to a chair. I almost forgot about dinner. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead.

Wilhelm grinned at her and folded his hands on the table, waiting. He heard no more screams, nor did his mother’s conversation end long enough for him to dwell on all he’d witnessed since leaving the magic shop.

It was dark when Wilhelm woke. Crawling out of bed, he crept from his room to the kitchen, lit only by hazy moonbeams streaming through the windows.

He was starving by the time he made it to the food cupboard. Standing on his tiptoes, he sorted through a variety of dried meats, smelling each and nibbling on most. He was rummaging through the loaves of bread, contemplating which would pair best with venison, when his mother’s cry of alarm resonated through their home. Though no candle burned, Wilhelm knew his house well. He dodged the furniture and burst into her room.

A moonbeam shot through his mother’s window and lit four shadowfires pinning her arms and legs to the bed. A fifth shadowfire screeched beside her bed as it formed a black ball of shadowflame between its outstretched arms. With a chilling shriek, the beast pressed the ball into his mother’s belly. Her bed dress smoked, and the sound of her sizzling skin was lost in her scream.

Wilhelm lunged at the nearest shadowfire. He fought rising panic when his hands swept through the creature. It wrapped its arms around him, heating his skin, feeling as solid as stone, despite the fact he could not find purchase against it. He kicked, arched his back, squirmed, and punched, but it was like fighting water.

The creature carried him to his sobbing mother, grabbed his wrist, and forced his palm to touch the ball of smoke sinking inside her. The mark on his palm burned red hot, sending a throbbing pain through him that didn’t diminish, even after he yanked his hand back.

The creature that had generated the ball turned its demonic gaze on Wilhelm. Sunken eye sockets of utter, empty darkness burrowed into him, seeming to snake through his entire being, leaving him drowning in a lake of violation.

Its hissing voice froze his blood and tightened his throat. "The boy will be mine; he will do my bidding. No longer is Arden safe."

The creature launched Wilhelm across the room. He slammed against the wall, rapping his head, then limply fell to the floor. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the spinning, blurry room as warm blood trickled down the back of his neck. Before pulsating darkness claimed him, his mother’s pleading No! echoed in the room.

2

Spring 1000 A.R

As usual, Wilhelm was bored.

He propped his elbows on the window ledge in the storage room of the magic shop, wishing with all his might that the day would hurry along.

Himiks had made it clear on several occasions that if any of his goods happened to break, the world would be engulfed in the vilest of evil imaginable. So Wilhelm, ever seeking to be a good son, sat in silence while his sulking gaze followed the few passing citizens, which he assumed—or rather dreamt—were hurrying home to prepare scrumptious dinners. With his stomach growling away the waning hours of the afternoon, he pondered the idea of being full. In his six years of existence, he had yet to experience the joy of a stuffed belly. Not to say his mother didn’t feed him properly. They maintained a humble life of modest dinners made with inexpensive ingredients—his least favorite being stew. The pot of thrown-together vegetables, herbs, and unsavory animal parts did little to entice his appetite, yet even the two bowls he’d devour never squelched his insatiable hunger.

Time to go, dear, his mother called.

He hopped from his stool and sprinted towards the front room. Before bursting into the merchandised-stocked area, he slowed to a brisk walk in order to avoid a scolding from Himiks. When Wilhelm rounded the corner, his mother’s welcoming smile awaited him.

She held out her hand. Ready?

His grin faded at the sight of her peaked complexion enhanced by the dark circles rimming her eyes that had been present since the attack of the shadowfires two seasons ago—along with fevers and violent retching.

Good evening, Ashra, Himiks growled. Hopefully tomorrow you can stay in the front long enough to prove your use.

When she responded, her voice lacked its customary strength. I’m sorry.

Himiks grunted and waved his hand in a gesture of annoyance. I don’t pay you to make a mess of my washroom.

I understand. Her feverish hand clasped Wilhelm’s. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wilhelm stepped outside into the warm spring sun and inhaled a deep breath. A perpetual layer of staleness hung in the air of the magic shop because Himiks preferred to keep the doors and windows barred shut. Though Wilhelm had grown accustomed to the stagnant store, the freshness of the light breeze brought about an awakening of his mind and lungs. His mother seemed to enjoy the sweet smell of spring as well. She closed her eyes while taking a deep breath and raised her face to the sun.

The breeze played with her thick hair. Wonderful evening.

He was about to utter his agreement when a passing man spat at her feet. Wilhelm could never push his mind to understand why mages endured taunts and spitting competitions conducted by loitering pedestrians with seemingly nothing better to do than torment wizards and witches. Wilhelm had witnessed such events, which regularly ended with a mage covered in filth, or—if the crowd was in a sprightly mood—beaten or dead. Luckily, his mother’s striking features and shiny blanket of auburn hair spared her such torment. Most people merely resorted to name-calling or spitting at her feet.

His mother gathered her cloak about her, hiding the slate-blue mage robes, and continued down the bustling market street. The spring sun mingled with the cool sea breeze as it weaved between buildings, sneaking through the narrow streets to lift the heavy smells of the market. Filth clung to the sides of buildings, and accumulated grime layered the cobblestones. The city of Falar relied on the rains to cleanse its dirt. It never rained enough.

They passed bards singing a discombobulated mess of melodies. The raucous voices joined pleading calls from merchants attempting to cajole passersby into a purchase, and the combination soured Wilhelm’s mood. He lived in a quiet home or sat in a quiet shop, and only his mother’s crooning broke the silence. The street noises made him wince.

His mother massaged her stomach, which, despite her illnesses, had grown a little bulge. We’ll visit Delora at the potion shop on the way home.

When the two arrived, a familiar man clothed in voluminous slate-blue robes stood at the counter examining a leaf.

Wilhelm rushed the mage. Uncle Mafarias!

Mafarias whisked him into a warm embrace. Wilhelm, my boy! How are you?

Fine! Where have you been? Wilhelm asked.

His mother arched her eyebrow and used a scolding tone. It’s been seven months since your last visit, Uncle.

Mafarias set him down and kissed her cheek. Lovely as ever, Ashra.

I’m sure you have an excuse as always, she said.

Wilhelm grinned at his great uncle. You’re in trouble.

Mafarias rolled his eyes and cast a wry smile. Alas, my dear, my talents are always required somewhere in the world.

You’ll stay for dinner?

Of course.

After Wilhelm’s mother visited with Delora, the family trio made their way to the butcher’s shop where Mafarias bought a delicious looking roast of venison before they set off for Wilhelm’s home above the baker’s shop. The fresh breads, sweet rolls, and pies constantly baking in Jyfil’s oven caused Wilhelm’s stomach to grumble. Many times over, he wished they would move.

When they entered his home, he sighed in contentment at the coziness of the space as he hung up his and his mother’s cloaks on wall pegs next to the door. Two chairs were nestled in front of the fireplace where his uncle was already working to light a fire. One side of the room was lined with wooden shelves crammed with books that Wilhelm had read twice. Some of them three times. The dining table was long for the small space and seemed to be a constant reminder of the loneliness that often crept into his heart.

He went to the kitchen and helped prepare the assortment of foods his uncle had bought.

The Association of Mages has come up with another brilliant law, Mafarias said in a tone of disgust.

Do they have nothing better to do than sit around and talk of ways to harm our reputation? she said.

I fear not. Now they’ll add our level of power to the guards’ list of known wizards and witches.

She furrowed her eyebrows. What’s the point?

The Association says it will ease the guards’ concerns. If they know how powerful we are, they’ll know how many men it will take to kill us.

She rolled her eyes. Wonderful. I don’t understand why they fear us. There are what ... fourteen or so spells available to us? They fear those spells as if we could defeat an entire city.

Mafarias sighed. Man will forever fear what is not understood, my dear.

Wilhelm carried a cheese and bread plate to the table. Before he turned, Mafarias lifted Wilhelm’s hand and examined his birthmark.

Has the mark been acting up, boy?

Yes. It kind of hurts and tingles a lot. In fact, it had itched, throbbed, and even burned since the night of the shadowfires.

Anything odd happen lately? Mafarias asked.

Not since the shadowfires two seasons ago. Wilhelm frowned at his hand, trying to recall the night of terror, but it all blended in a hazy memory of flight from the magic shop. He barely remembered making it home.

Mafarias studied the mark for a moment before color drained from his face. His voice hardly a whisper, he turned to Wilhelm’s mother and said, You look pale.

She nodded, carving up the roast. I haven’t been feeling well for months. Fevers, and my stomach is in knots.

Did you ask Delora? Mafarias crossed the room to her and touched her forehead.

Yes. She has no idea.

Mafarias’s gaze lowered to her distended belly and widened. Wilhelm thought it a tad rude to stare at her new bulge.

What? His mother turned a rosy pink and adjusted her robes. I’ve put on a few pounds. Stop looking at me that way.

Mafarias’s eyes widened further. You don’t know?

She rammed the knife into the wood counter. It’s not possible! It can’t be!

Wilhelm flinched from the anger in her voice. He’d never heard her snap at anyone.

Mafarias rested a hand on her shoulder. We can deal with this—

No! There’s nothing I need to deal with! Lifting the heavy plate of meat, she turned on her heel and took two steps before she swayed to a stop. The platter shattered on the floor, and she grabbed her belly.

No, she breathed. This can’t be happening!

Mafarias caught her in his arms. Wilhelm, run and fetch Delora from the herb shop. Tell her your mother is having a baby.

What did it do to me? she screamed.

Her cry of pain and the pool of blood forming on the floor sprang Wilhelm into action.

Wilhelm paced in front of the fireplace as he had since Delora arrived hours earlier. He was upset by the cries coming from behind his mother’s bedroom door and by the thought that she had kept such a wonderful secret from him. As the night crawled on, a fast-moving cloud shrouded the silver moon and dimmed the light streaming through the sitting room window.

Ecia lumenious, Mafarias whispered, and a crystal resting on the table emitted a warming, pure white light. You’re about to wear a hole in your floor.

I can’t be still. What’s taking so long? Unfortunately, Wilhelm hadn’t inherited his mother’s patience.

These things can’t be rushed. We enter the world at our own choosing. By the way, good Birth Day to you.

Wilhelm glanced out the window. Indeed, the palest light of a new morning threatened to devour the constellation of Ctol Lilkous, honored Knight and first King of Arden. Elbows propped on the window ledge, he stared at the stars, brooding.

Did you do anything to celebrate the coming of the New Year last week? Mafarias asked.

No, we stayed home. Mother doesn’t like to be on the streets when there’s a crowd. They always spit on her and call her names.

I see. Wilhelm felt his uncle’s gaze for several moments before Mafarias spoke. Have I ever told you what a sharp boy you are? You don’t act six years old at all.

Mother makes me study all the time. I’m smarter than the other boys.

Your mother has high standards for her son.

I know. Wilhelm rolled his eyes. No other kids my age can read and do math.

Mafarias chuckled and shook his head. Quite a talented boy you are. You must’ve read the stories of Ctol Lilkous then.

Wilhelm nodded. He was the knight who won the war against Veedran’s minotaur army, turned them to his cause, and saved Arden from the evil god’s reign. He became the sole king of Arden before Nevlar’s Retribution.

He did indeed; a brave man, and skilled with a sword. He fought with two weapons. Did you know that?

Wilhelm glanced at the constellation again. No.

They say his strength was unmatched. He used both a great sword and a broadsword simultaneously.

Bah! He waved the story aside. Impossible.

Nothing is impossible.

Everyone knows a great sword is too heavy. You have to use two hands.

At the rate you’re growing, my dear boy, you might have a chance of trying it yourself.

Wilhelm grinned. It would be wonderful if I fought with two swords. He allowed himself a daydream, imagining fierce creatures running in fear as his swords swung through the air. His grin broadened at the thought of his baby brother fighting by his side.

Wilhelm’s smile faded when his mother’s cries switched to screams.

Mafarias cleared his throat. So, tell me of the night the creatures appeared. Everything.

We were at Himiks’s shop when they came. I saw one come up right from the ground. The city panicked, and Mother pushed through the crowd until we reached home. We latched the door and stayed inside. When I woke up, Mother said the creatures had left in the night.

Mafarias’s brow furrowed. Nothing else?

No. Mother has been sick—like she told you—with fevers, and she throws up a lot. Wilhelm batted away the nagging feeling that something else had happened.

Delora gave a cry from Ashra’s bedroom. A painful hole formed in Wilhelm’s heart as if someone had taken a spoon and carved out a portion of his soul. With each breath the hollowness grew until he doubled over, clutching his chest.

What seemed like days passed before Delora’s voice croaked barely audible words. I’ve tried everything, Ashra. The baby won’t breathe and has no life beat. I’m so sorry.

Wilhelm’s feet melted to the spot where he stood. He wanted a sibling. He’d watched other children play with younger brothers or sisters with shameful envy. He seethed with jealousy when they laughed over newly devised games and shared jokes no one else understood. He ached for the same closeness. Now, Delora’s fateful words leached away his hope.

The door opened, and Delora motioned Mafarias to enter. Ashra’s in poor condition. Delora’s voice dropped so Wilhelm barely heard her. I nearly lost her more times than I care to count. She’s lost a lot of blood, and I doubt she’ll have more children.

Mafarias nodded and disappeared into the room.

You stay here, dear, Delora said to Wilhelm. You can see your mother in a bit.

Can I hold him?

She patted his cheek. I’m not sure that’s wise.

Please?

Delora regarded him for a moment and then said, Wait here.

She disappeared into his mother’s room and returned a short time later carrying a bundle of white cloth. Wilhelm accepted the tiny body along with Delora’s hug before she left his home.

Settling into a plush chair beside the fire, Wilhelm carefully peeled away the cloth and stared at his tiny brother. Thick black hair mantled his small head, and Wilhelm smoothed an unruly lock sticking straight up. The baby looked as though it was sleeping, and Wilhelm stared at its chest for some hopeful sign of life. Nothing.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he clasped the tiny hand in his own. With all his will and heart, he begged his baby brother to live, to fill the void that had plagued Wilhelm for as long as he could remember.

Pain flared from the mark on his palm and crept over his body as if a wave of needles jammed into his flesh. As it rippled through him, the aching in his heart ebbed and warmth surged up inside, seeming ready to explode from his body. It mushroomed with such speed that he grew faint, yet he shivered from the euphoric wholeness blazing through his blood. The sudden link to his brother amplified, and the intensity escalated the longer Wilhelm’s thoughts focused on his desperate want of a brother. Just as he thought his mind might burst, the power roaming through his body imploded upon itself deep within. A prick of pain stabbed his palm, and then it all stopped.

He jerked his hand away and stared at his mark. It didn’t look different. He rubbed it against his trews, trying to rid himself of the last vibrating tingles. Glancing at his lap, he twitched with a start at the baby staring at him. Gray-black irises, just a shade lighter than the jet-black pupil, were so large that only a sliver of white on each side could be seen. Not only were the irises overly large, but they also seemed to have a life of their own. They churned like black smoke from a smoldering flame, whirling in shifting hues of gray and black.

Questions ran rampant on how the baby had suddenly come to life, but one thought satisfied his curiosity: Finally, he was an older brother. He’d be damned by all the gods in all the worlds before he questioned the reason for receiving such a special gift.

Smiling, he said, Salvarias Laybryth. That’s your name.

A sparkle lit up his brother’s black eyes, invoking Wilhelm’s grin. For the first time—because of that sparkle—Wilhelm felt whole.

In his blissful state, it took a moment before he became aware of a presence in the room, and as he raised his head, a figure robed in blood-red velvet stepped from the shadows. The air was sucked from the room, and a weight mantled itself upon Wilhelm, pressing down on him, pinning him to the chair.

No doubt existed that pure evil had forged the man standing before Wilhelm.

The figure reached a skeletal finger for Salvarias. Wilhelm struggled against invisible bonds that seemed to strap him to the chair. He attempted to call out, but no sound escaped his lips.

The instant the man’s finger rested on Salvarias’s forehead, the baby writhed in Wilhelm’s arms, features twisted in agony, tears flowing down the newborn’s cheeks. A weak cry escaped his tiny lungs, and his black eyes filled with horror.

A cold and calculating snakelike hiss issued from the hood. "Yes, this will be the Soul. He will determine the outcome. This Guardian is mine! He will do my bidding!"

A smoky red fog oozed from the man’s finger and encased Salvarias. Another feeble cry escaped, and his gray-black eyes widened and distanced. A drop of blood trickled out of his nose.

Fear ignited in Wilhelm. The warm tingle he’d felt only moments earlier surged up and imbued strength in his every muscle. Using all his power, his brow beading with sweat and heart pounding, he wrestled the bonds that held him until his right hand rose. Commanding the power coursing through him, his arm shook as it moved, inch by inch, closer to the figure until finally, Wilhelm’s fingertips rested on the man’s hand. The figure recoiled with a yelp.

The red smoke that had seemed to be feeding on Salvarias seeped into him, inducing yet another cry. The man sucked in a breath before melting into the shadows. Wilhelm’s trapped cry escaped into the room as the door to their home clicked closed.

What is it? Mafarias asked from the doorway of Wilhelm’s mother’s room.

He forgot why he’d cried out. The last thing he remembered was seeing large, black eyes. Looking down, Salvarias’s unfocused eyes were opened wide, tears streamed down his pale cheeks, and blood trickled from his nose.

Help him! He’s alive! Wilhelm pleaded.

Mafarias’s robes rustled in the quiet room as he strode to Salvarias. The palest blue smoky light poured from his uncle’s outstretched thumb as he rested it on Salvarias’s forehead. The light pulsed, almost blinding Wilhelm, and Mafarias fell to his knees with a soft cry as he yanked his hand away. Quicker than the blink of an eye, the blue fog sucked inside Salvarias.

May the gods have mercy, Mafarias whispered.

He turned Salvarias’s left hand over to reveal a black raised mark that filled his palm; a silhouetted flame circled by a black ring.

When Salvarias fidgeted under his uncle’s touch, Wilhelm pulled his brother’s hand away. Don’t touch him. What’s that mark?

Mafarias rubbed his forehead. Nothing to worry about yet.

Salvarias had calmed and now studied Wilhelm with serious intent. A grin spread across his face, and he ruffled his brother’s soft hair. The black eyes sparkled back.

Unupture examined his orange-tinted hand in the light of the rising sun while he waited for his master’s return. His wrinkle-free skin was a painful reminder that he was well over a thousand years old and had once served the almighty dark god. The rewards Unupture had received from Veedran—eternal life to name one—hardly countered the punishments Veedran had inflicted. The dark god wasn’t a kind master, nor was Unupture’s new one. He sighed. He seemed to attract cruel masters. Why did the side of Light never want to test the boundaries of creation?

He lifted his plum-purple robes to avoid a fleeing rat and mulled over the possibilities of breeding the rodent with one of his prisoners.

Finally, his master emerged from the shabby home above the baker’s shop. By God’s scowling face and stomping feet when he descended the stairs, things hadn’t gone according to plan.

God strode over, his overly large black eyes sending a shudder down Unupture’s spine even as his entire being wanted to fall to his knees and kiss God’s feet.

What happened? God demanded in his alluring, hissing voice. Sense my powers. Are they weaker?

Yes, my Lord. Tell me what occurred.

God cursed. I was planting my seed. I was going to have complete control over the Guardian.

The baby has taken a great deal of your power. Were you successful at all?

Only partly. God shook his head. "He is not like other Guardians. His soul … I must have his soul."

The soul? Unupture frowned. Yet another detour from God’s original plan. Might I ask why, Master?

A gleam of perfect white teeth flashed a smile. It is linked to my battle, servant. How truly remarkable, isn’t it? A Soul, one tiny little soul, is all I must obtain.

I don’t understand.

"If the child follows me, willingly, then victory is mine."

Unupture was not sure how to process such a declaration. Carefully, he said, I see. If I may be so bold, what’s preventing us from marching up those steps and taking the baby now?

Anger flashed in God’s eyes. "How,